What To Do Now
by MissZatanna
Summary: "How could she make his pain disappear? How could time heal this man's wounds so deeply engraved in his bones, in his heart?" Enjonine oneshot.


**A/N**: I have been on such a Les Miserables binge lately that I can't seem to stop. I have read a million fanfictions, watched the movie again and again, and have been singing and listening to the music so much that it's a miracle my parents haven't kicked me out of the house yet. So this is an Enjonine fic set after the battle at the barricade. It's an AU inspired by the Owen and Cristina bathtub scene from Grey's Anatomy right after the plane crash. I hope you guys enjoy and I will definitely try to write more!

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of Les Miserables, nor will I ever.**

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><p>The moonlight glistened in the rivers of red that filled the streets. The moans of agony and lost lives filled the air, thick with mourning. It was a death sentence, that dream of a world reborn in light and equality. They rose with voices ringing in the Cafe Musain, ignorant of their inevitable futures. Somewhere, deep in the back of their minds, they knew that their blind ambition would be the cause of their untimely demise. But they fought anyhow, until their whimpers and cries were ended with a killing shot.<p>

Though that was nights ago, the sounds rang in Enjolras's mind as if they were right outside. The lukewarm water, once steaming and soothing, ran down his back in rivets, failing to wash away his unease as it was intended. He shook slightly, his eyes trained on the rippling water surrounding him. The night was quiet and eerie, just as past nights and many more to come would also be.

"It's alright," she whispered softly. The sponge was dipped into the water again before being brought against his back and squeezed. Her soothing words meant nothing as they were blocked from his ears by the cries of the lonely, cries of the remembered. Eponine's acknowledgement was forgotten. As she moved to tuck a damp, stringy hair behind her beloved's ear, he regarded her cautiously. He jerked away violently as her skin made contact with his, as if the gesture had cause him unbearable pain. "It's over," she whispered quietly, moving back to her original movements. Dip, lift, squeeze. "I'm here."

Enjolras's voice shook as he spoke in monotone. "There was so much blood. I wrapped Marius's wounds. His chest..."

"Shh," Eponine spoke. "Marius is alive. Marius is well."

"Combeferre, Joly... I-I tried to..." he raised his hands from the water and stared at them in horror, his eyes wide. "I was covered in their blood. I-It was all over me. They kept dying. They all just kept dying."

Eponine stayed silent. In the past nights following the massacre, Enjolras had failed to say anything. His mind remained lost in the battle, his world stuck in the crimson night. His words penetrating the darkness that surrounded him provided no light, no sanctuary. At last, there was no relief for weary.

"Dead," he cried silently. "All dead. It hurt my ears. Courf's screams hurt my ears. We took the bullet out. He screamed. Loud, so loud. It's all so loud, Eponine, make it stop." He began to shake even more, his eyes squeezed shut and his sobs quietly piercing the silent room. "Please. It hurts."

Tears ran down Eponine's face as she watched her beloved recall the deaths of that night. That revolution. The dream they had all dreamed, they had all died for. She wiped her cheeks before grabbing the towel nearby. Pressing a kiss to Enjolras's head, she lingered for a moment. If only that kiss could erase all he had seen. All he had felt in one night.

"Come, love. It is time to rest." As she held out the towel to him, ready to wrap his body in it, to hold him close and comfort him as he wept, he turned to her and stared with sad, solemn eyes. For the first time, this leader of a new age, this determined, ambitious man, had looked like a boy, terrified and lost.

"What do I do?" he asked softly. "Tell me, Eponine. What do I do now?"

She could not answer him perfectly. She had no idea what to do now. How could she make his pain disappear? How could time heal this man's wounds so deeply engraved in his bones, in his heart?

"Rest, love," she answered quietly. "It's time to rest."


End file.
